The Hollow Man
Twenty-Sixth Day of the Tenth Month 293 AC
Hogart is a pawn to be swept off the board later, you reason, yet you have dealt enough with fey trickery to worry that you may not find him after letting him out of sight, vanished into the depths of the Feywild perhaps where you would not lightly tread. You dislike loose ends and so you
veil Varys and bid her to collect unseen a hair or three from the tailor's head to keep him from being misplaced before he can be dealt with according to the full rigor of the law. No doubt the Lyseni lawmen shall have a most fascinating conversation with him.
Varys uncoils herself from around your neck and rises in lazy circles, contemplating Hogart as a hawk might a particularly plump rabbit before descending with utmost care to snatch the asked for hair... yet her claws close only on empty air. Under your shocked gaze the figure of the merchant blurs, a glamour fallen to tatters to reveal the fire spirit from the memory you had glimpsed, eyes bright as white-hot embers, a sharp-toothed smile upon its stony lips.
Before you can even grasp the sheer impossibility of what you are seeing contrasted to the thoughts you had spied upon moments before the strange fey speaks a single word
pulling at the threads of time, perhaps to fight, most likely to flee. The signet ring upon your right hand flares more in instinct than in thought. The spell dies stillborn, though the effort of it leaves you gasping in effort.
What is this being? Some favored herald of Ymeri come to work dark mischief in the world of men?
Thoros does not seem to be troubled by such questions even for a moment, his sword drawn and slashing towards the foe in an arc of
golden light as he calls out to R'hllor for strength. The fey moves with uncanny swiftness almost escaping the clinging threads of light, but the sword of dragonsteel strikes true and the will of a god will not be lightly undone. The spirit is bound if only for a moment as Rina stretches out her right hand to hurl a dozen
knives of ice across the room, tearing through fabric and splintering wood while from her left flows a cold light
blindingly bright. The enemy reels in pain, but there is no blood anywhere from the blows of steel and spell-forged ice.
Had it truly been harmed, you wonder,
or was it merely playing a game as it did the role of Hogart for some purpose you cannot yet guess at, your mind racing even as you speak your next spell, to bind or to slay.
What do you do?
[] Write in
OOC: Really short this time but it's the nature of unexpected combat. Whatever this is it lied to Brain Spider, not resisted the spell but fed Viserys the fabrication that it was Hogart. It's not playing by the usual rules somehow. 
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